Once Upon a Time in Spanish California
by 0positiv
Summary: When Henry was thrown over board in 1814 he ended up in Spanish California at a town called Santa Helena that was governed by one Colonel Luis Montoya. 200 years later they meet again.
1. Chapter 1

"And who have we here? Could it really be Doctor Henry Morgan, or is it not Doctor Morgan any longer?"

Henry turned towards the familiar voice with a surprised look on his face. He knew that voice, knew that slight Spanish accent. And he knew that face. A face that seemed to not have changed at all in 200 years, right down to the perfectly trimmed beard and tied back hair. He half expected the man to wear the colourful uniform of the 19th century Spanish military and the simple black tuxedo seem strangely bland in comparison. Colonel Luis Montoya never dressed blandly. But it could not be him, unless…

"Yes, yes I'm Doctor Morgan….Mr…?"

The man gave him a small bow in greeting, from the hip, the way Henry remembered him bowing to the Dons and their wives so long ago.

"Montoya, Luis Ramirez Montoya. It has been a long time, I am happy to see you are well…and appropriately dressed, for once."

A slightly mocking smile appeared on the stern features and Henry only just held back a groan. He would never live that down now, would he?

"And what brings you to my pueblo in such a state of undress, Dr. Morgan?"

Colonel Luis Montoya lifted an eyebrow at the stranger his soldiers had brought before him. He was barely preserving his modestly with a hastily appropriated bag from a market stall and looked very uncomfortable.

"I …I was thrown overboard a ship, naked, because I…disagreed with the captain."

Crossing his ankles Montoya nodded towards the soldiers and commanded: "Get this man some clothes. I am sure we have trousers and a shirt he can borrow, and some boots."

The soldiers saluted and hurried away. Which left Henry alone with Montoya and that clearly made the self-proclaimed doctor uncomfortable. Good. Montoya found that people were much easier to interrogate if they were ill at ease.

"Now, doctor, tell me exactly what has brought you here. And if that bit of trouble is likely to follow you…"

That had been in 1814, right after Henry had been shot on the _Empress of Africa_. He had been drifting in the sea for days, drowning again and again only to find himself alive shortly after. When he had finally seen a shore line in the distance he had cried with relieve.

Naturally a naked stranger had cause quite a bit of a stir and shortly after he had been spotted soldiers had appeared and arrested him.

They had taken him to the military governor and after much stammering out of lies he had made up on the spot Henry got taken to a room above the cantina with borrowed ill-fitting clothes and an invitation to join the colonel for dinner later.

Could it really be that Colonel Montoya was like him? Immortal? For how else could he be here, now, looking exactly the same? And surely it was Montoya himself, not some great-great-grandson for he had clearly recognised Henry, called him by name.

And if Montoya was like him, was like Adam, what would his intentions be?

He did not look deranged and homicidal but then neither had Adam when he had made an effort.

Montoya blended in easily with the well-to-do crowd at the explorers' club, he had always had cultivated an air of breeding and sophistication, even back in dusty California.

But then Adam had blended in just as easily here when he had shown Henry the flintlock pistol.

"Wonders will truly never cease in America, will they, doctor? I would never have expected to ever see you again. But then the circumstances of our first meeting should have clued me in that there was more to you than meets the eye."

Montoya's eyes met Henry's questioningly, maybe a bit hopefully. Henry remembered the feeling well, what it had been like to find out there was someone else like him. The hope that Adam might have answers to some of his questions.

Was Montoya now hoping that Henry had answers? If so Henry feared he'd have to disappoint the man. He didn't know much more about this curse than he had in the 19th century.

Instead of standing and facing whatever questions the Spaniard might have Henry stammered some excuse and beat a hasty retreat.

He felt Montoya's eyes follow him across the room as he cornered one of the other members and discretely asked for information about this Luis Montoya.

Gossip was always a popular topic at any social gathering, that was a fact that had not changed at all in 200 years. And as it turned out people were currently gossiping rather wildly about Mr. Montoya because he was a new member of the explorers' club, recently arrived from Spain, and very rich.

Much of the gossip was about how exactly he had acquired his money and the theories went from his father having been an oil baron via pirate gold to organised crime connections. No one had even heard about him before he had appeared in New York about five years ago, throwing around money, buying up houses and businesses. He was, by all accounts, a very private man which of course made people even more suspicious of his past.

But the base line seemed to be that currently Montoya was a respectable business man with fingers in the import/export business as well as real estate.

He gave to charity but only just the right amount to seem generous but not overly so. He supported young musicians and artists. He was currently single and by all accounts keeping his past love life very private.

Nothing Henry heard that night _really_ said "Warning, homicidal maniac" but he still remembered how Colonel Montoya had ruled Santa Helena with an iron fist and had clearly been more focused on his own gain than the well being of his subjects.

For the rest of the night Henry deftly avoided another encounter with the Spaniard and left the party earlier than he had planned. He thought that in the morning he should ask Jo whether she could find out something more about Montoya via official channels or if that would cause some kind of international incident.


	2. Chapter 2

"By his passport he's 43 years old, born in Madrid, he's still a Spanish citizen but is trying to gain American citizenship currently. Without too much obvious digging and by calling a friend who works for Interpol all I could find out is that he's supposedly an orphan who worked his way up. But information on him is very sparse until about ten years ago. Which kind of smells like a cover identity to me."

Jo closed the thin file and put it on Henry's desk. It was labelled "Henry's creepy stalker 2.0" and he lifted an eyebrow at that but didn't comment.

"So he's not been involved in any crimes that we know of?"

Maybe this one really wasn't a homicidal maniac? A man can hope...

Jo just shrugged.

"At least not while using this identity. I also googled him and turns out Wikipedia actually has a very short article mentioning a certain Colonel Luis Montoya who was a military governor in California in the 19th century. "

Henry tried not to let his distaste for the use of a brand name as a verb show and made a motion for her to continue. Jo grinned, clearly he hadn't hidden it well enough, and opened the folder again to pull out the print out of said article. She held it out for Henry to take.

"The article isn't about him as such, more about this private war he had with a female bandit calling herself 'The Queen of Swords'. Seems she was one tough lady with a bit of a Robin Hood complex. Steal from the rich - which mostly meant Montoya - and give to the poor. She singlehandedly made a whole garrison of soldiers look like fools. Also apparently there was a journalist in Spain who wrote about her exploits and his readers loved it. She became a bit of a folk hero in Spain, it seems, and was basically regarded as a saint by the poor in California."

Henry quickly read through the article. There really wasn't all that much information.

"I've never heard of her, I'm afraid. At least no one mentioned her when I was there. "

Jo nodded towards the page he was holding.

"That might be because going by the dates they give in that article she first appeared in 1817, about three years after you were in California."

Henry put the page back into the folder and closed it.

"I can't imagine the colonel reacting well to someone stealing from him and making him look bad. His image was very important to him and he was more than a little power hungry. "

"I hope you got a bit of rest after your adventurous morning, Doctor Morgan?"

Montoya had risen from his chair as soon as the soldier led Henry into the courtyard. He gestured for his guest to sit down in the empty chair opposite his own.

"I did, colonel, and the bath and clothes were also greatly appreciated. "

Henry took a quick look around before sitting down.

The walls of the small courtyard were rich with roses in bloom which gave off a delicate fragrance. The table had been set for two and as soon as both men were seated a light soup was served.

"I see you're admiring my roses. They are one of the few indulgences I allow myself even though growing them isn't easy in this harsh climate. "

Thinking of the colonel's office with its throne like chair Henry doubted roses were the biggest of his indulgences but he stopped himself from saying so. He was quite at the mercy of Montoya and his soldiers so he thought it would be prudent to stay on their good side.

"They are indeed very beautiful, colonel."

They finished their soup in silence and soon a servant came to collect the empty plates.

"Surely you'll have wine with the main course, doctor?"

Montoya didn't even wait for a reply before demanding a light white wine be served with the fish.

Henry decided it wasn't worth arguing about and merely nodded his assent.

The fish, and the wine, were both excellent and Montoya unobtrusively made sure that Henry's glass was never empty.

After dessert and more than slightly tipsy Henry tried to excuse himself to go back to his hotel room but Montoya wouldn't hear of it.

"The evening is still young, doctor, and I still have some questions about your...unfortunate way of arriving here. "

Henry didn't even have to act much to look tired and weary.

"I really hoped we could leave more questions for tomorrow. I am quite exhausted and a full belly has only made it worse..."

Montoya waves away his excuses.

"I'll have the kitchen prepare you a coffee. Now which ship did you say you were on again. ..?"

Henry tried to force his foggy mind to remember which name he'd given Montoya this morning.

"The Sarah Ellen. Not the biggest ship but fast which is why I choose her. Too bad her captain was a choleric. .."

The colonel smiled and tilted his head to the side.

"The Sarah Ellen, that's what I thought you said, but no one has ever heard of a ship by that name that would make the crossing to California. But surely you were just confused and didn't remember the name right. You were most likely preoccupied with medical pursuits. "

Behind his indulging smile and too friendly voice Henry thought he detected a coldly calculating mind that didn't miss anything and surely wouldn't forget this matter anytime soon.

"Yes, I must not remember the name right then. I never was much of a nautical man myself. I don't understand the first thing about sailing a ship. "

Henry hoped his own smile looked less pained than it felt and a lot more sheepish.

"Having had an altercation with the captain of said vessel I am sure you might also prefer no one to know exactly which ship it might have been lest the captain somehow hear where you are once he reaches the next harbour, sí doctor?"

Henry suddenly found that Montoya's smile seemed much less indulging and more predatory.

"Well...him and me didn't exactly part on the best of terms, that's true. But truly I doubt he'd want to hunt me down because of it. Surely throwing me over board naked was punishment enough?"

He sipped the coffee that had by now arrived from the kitchen and hoped it would help clear his mind. Montoya wasn't the kind of opponent one should verbally fence with while drunk.

The colonel traced the rim of his own cup with his finger and without looking up said in a much too friendly tone: "That might depend entirely on what it was you did that upset him so. But should anyone ask me I will be sure to tell them that the only doctor in this pueblo has been here for years and surly can't be the one they are looking for. "

Pale eyes looked up at Henry again without a trace of a smile. "Especially if said doctor were to show his gratitude by treating my soldiers for a reduced fee..."

"Now doesn't he sound like a lovely fellow?"

The sarcasm was literally dripping and Jo's expression showed deep distaste.

"He was a product of his time, I'd say. For a man from his social background rising to the rank of Colonel can't have been easy and I'm sure he made quite a remarkable number of enemies. He had to cement his position in California as well as possible or he might well be recalled to Spain in disgrace. Which is not to say that i condone his methods in any way. His supposed law and order was much too arbitrary and too many innocent people suffered under it. I'm not surprised that a climate like that created someone like this 'Queen of Swords '."

Jo looked like her fingers were itching to put handcuffs on Montoya.

"Oh yes, I can very well understand why someone would not tolerate such injustice. He was no governor, he was a despot. California was much better off after he vanished. Too bad he didn't really die…at least not permanently."


	3. Chapter 3

Shortly before closing time the bell over the door of Abe's Antiques announced a customer. It had been a slow day and Abe had talked Henry into another chess rematch. He was, once again, well on his way too losing so he very much welcomed the respite a customer might bring.

Jumping up from his chair with enthusiasm he turned towards the door with a bright smile.

"Welcome to my shop, sir, are you looking for anything in particular?"

In his hurry Abe had completely missed the look on Henry's face as he recognized the customer.

"Good evening, Señor Morgan. I am actually looking for a particular antique, yes, but I do not think he is for sale."

Abe blinked at the man in confusion until he realised that the focus of the stranger's gaze had shifted towards Henry, who had soundlessly come to stand behind Abraham.

"Doctor Morgan and I have a few things to discuss, I believe."

The smile on the man's face could have been innocent if there weren't a certain hard gleam to his eyes that clearly showed how little choice Henry was going to have about this.

"It's alright, Abe, Mr. Montoya and I are…old acquaintances. Shall we take this somewhere more private?"

Montoya regally nodded his assent.

"After you, Doctor Morgan. It was a pleasure meeting you, Señor Morgan, and I am looking forward to having a look around your remarkable business at a more convenient time."

Still rather confused Abe watched Henry lead Montoya down into the basement. Why could his father never attract the attention of normal people…or at least pretty female creeps?

Montoya walked around Henry's lab with curiosity as he pulled off his leather gloves and stowed them in the pocket of his coat. He shrugged out of the coat, folded it in half and carefully draped it over the back of a chair.

"What a remarkable refuge you have down here, doctor, if a bit macabre for my tastes."

His eyes fell on Henry's blackboard and he lifted an eyebrow at the list of deaths but did not comment. Henry merely watched him in silence and made sure to stay where he had a knife in easy reach. Better save than sorry.

After finishing his examination of the room the Spaniard turn his attention back to Henry.

"I made inquiries about you after your hasty departure at our last meeting, as I am sure you made inquires about me. But there is only so much one can find out about another from afar so I thought it would be preferable to call on you in person. I apologize for not phoning ahead to ask when it would be convenient but I feared it would only give you the chance to avoid me again."

The slight lift of his eyebrows and the tilt of his head made the statement nearly a question and Henry just lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

"Maybe, maybe not. But you must understand that I've not had the best of experiences lately with people who take an interest in me. I did not know what your intentions were."

Montoya picked up a bell jar with a stuffed crow in it and turned it around in his hands.

"We are curious specimens, the two of us, are we not? Until the other day I had not met anyone else who had been gifted with as long a life span as me. And I must admit that after all this time I had feared there were no others. Yet here you are."

He put down the bird carefully and fixed Henry with a calculating stare.

"I do of course realise that you have no reason to trust me or confide in me but I had hoped that we could put aside our suspicions of each other for a night and compare experiences? How about a bit of quid pro quo, Doctor Morgan? I will tell you my story and you will tell me yours? I'll even begin, as a show of good faith."

Henry contemplated the offer for a second. It sounded reasonable, and above all it sounded like a _sane_ reaction to meeting another immortal. Not like Adam, who had stalked and terrorized him from a distance. Civilised conversation, trading stories, that he could do. It was much preferable to threatening phone calls and meetings over dead bodies.

"Ok, yes, I would like that very much. Why don't you sit down? I have some sherry, if you'd care for a glass?"

They made themselves comfortable, or as comfortable as they could allow themselves to be in this situation, and Henry prepared their drinks. He handed one glass to Monotya then lifted his own with a slight smile.

"To an interesting evening and new acquaintances."

The Spaniard lifted his own glass and echoed the toast.

"Now, where shall I begin? It was about five years after you so hastily decided to leave Santa Helena and I was having a spot of trouble with a certain she-devil calling herself 'The Queen of Swords'…"

"Open your eyes, colonel, come on, you wouldn't want your men to see you sleeping on the job?"

Montoya knew that smug English voice but his mind felt slow and foggy and he couldn't yet come up with a name. His eyelids were heavy and it took all of his willpower to lift them enough to make out a blurry face above his head.

The light was too bright and he shut his eyes again with a groan.

"Turn out that infernal lamp, will you, Doctor Helm?"

Yes, Helm, that was the man's name. Robert Helm, physician and sometimes thorn in his side.

The doctor mumbled something about difficult patients but he dimmed the light a bit.

"Where am I? What has happened?"

Montoya still felt like he was drunk or drugged, his mouth was too dry and he had a pounding headache. Trying to remember why he was in this state took more strength than he felt he had.

"We had rather hoped that you could tell us that, colonel. You had been missing for a whole day before the soldiers found you in that canyon. This is exactly why you shouldn't split up when you go after a certain sword wielding woman."

Luis groaned. Of course, the Queen of Swords, he should have expected that. Everything annoying or painful in his life had to do with her, lately.

"Go on, doctor. Why am I feeling like my head is going to explode?"

He felt Helm's arm lift his shoulders up from the examination table.

"Later, colonel, first I need you to open your eyes again and drink this."

Luis managed to open his eyes all the way this time and Helm's worried face was slightly less blurry than before. He drank the bitter liquid from the cup Helm put to his mouth.

"What is this vile concoction of yours this time?"

Instead of answering Helm leaned closer and looked at his eyes, took his pulse, then lowered him back down onto the table.

"It's more of the willow bark distillate, you are running a fever. You have a nasty cut to your thigh that has become infected. It is rather deep as well. I think you must have lost consciousness from loss of blood while trying to walk back to town. I will have to clean the wound, maybe cut off some of the dead tissue, hopefully we can yet stop the infection from spreading. It will be very painful. Would you like something to bite one?"

Montoya only half comprehended what the doctor told him, his mind kept slipping into a blankness that disturbed him. He took a deep breath.

"No, just get it over with." He let his eyes shut again and the darkness helped a bit against the headache, or maybe that was Helm's medicine?

"Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you…"

The pain was like nothing Luis had ever experienced before and after a short while it overwhelmed his weakened body and he slipped into unconsciousness.

The first thing he became aware of were voices. He did not know how long he had been unconscious and it took him a worryingly long time to remember where he was.

Doctor Helm's office, he had been wounded, something about an infection… Montoya found that he could barely move, all his limbs felt as heavy as lead and the pounding in his head was worse than before. Even breathing felt like too much effort.

"I fear it might already be too late. His temperature is still much too high, despite the medication, and I don't think I'll be able to stop the infection. His blood pressure is dropping and his heart rate is speeding up. I fear he'll go into shock and there is nothing I can do to stop it. You might want to call the priest, Grisham…"

He lost time again and the next thing Luis heard was the priest mumbling in Latin, administering the last rites. He still couldn't move and his whole body felt as if it were on fire. He could feel his heart beat pounding in his head and as he heard the priest say good night to Doctor Helm and leave he thought that if this was what dying felt like he'd rather get it over with already.

The next thing he was aware of was freezing cold water surrounding him, the tide pulling at his body. Inhaling the salty spray the waves kicked into the air made him cough. He panicked, fearing he'd drown, his experience with swimming was only rudimentary, but somehow he managed to make his way towards the beach. The night air was cold on his naked body as he stepped from the water and he had no explanation what so ever how he had ended up in the sea without his clothes.

Pushing his wet hair out of his face and squaring his shoulders he started walking towards town. God help whoever would dare to even comment on his state of undress.

Thankfully he was spared the indignity of having to walk into town naked as he came across a peasant leading a donkey along the road. He put every bit of authority he had into his voice and demanded the man's trousers and shirt. After getting dressed he told the man in no uncertain terms what would happen to him should he so much as mention this meeting to anyone. Sometimes having a reputation for being ruthless was very useful indeed.

After a good hour's walk along uneven roads in the dark Luis finally reached Santa Helena. He made his way to the doctor's door without meeting anyone and knocked.

The look on Helm's face alone was nearly worth the whole ordeal as the Englishman stared at him open mouthed like he was seeing a ghost.

He grabbed Montoya's arm and pulled him inside then hastily shut the door.

"You're supposed to be dead!"

Luis brushed off the doctor's hand and glared at him.

"I am so sorry to disappoint."

Helm first pinched himself the put one hand on Montoya's forehead and took his pulse with the other.

"That's not how I meant it…the fever is gone, and your blood pressure and heart rate are back to normal. How is this possible? Only two hours ago I was sure you'd not live to see another sunrise, then I come to check on you and find you gone and now you're completely fine. I just don't understand it."

Since the doctor looked as if he might soon be in need of his own smelling salts Montoya manhandle him towards a chair and made him sit down.

"I have no more explanation for it than you, Doctor Helm. I would call it a miracle but then I doubt I am the usual clientele for heavenly intervention. The last thing I remember is lying on your table with the priest standing above me and then suddenly I wake up in the sea a short way off coast, without my clothes."

Only now did Helm seem to realise that Montoya was wearing someone else's clothes and he frowned in confusion.

"Without your clothes…and in the sea? But why? I need to run some tests…"


	4. Chapter 4

"And did his tests reveal anything out of the ordinary?"

Henry had no real hope that the answer would be 'yes'. He himself had done all manners of experiments on his own body without anything useful to show for it. But there might still be tests he just hadn't thought of yet. It would be really useful to have another doctor to consult with on this.

"Absolutely nothing. I was in prefect health and the wound in my leg was gone leaving only a scar behind. I thought the poor doctor would faint from the shock of it all. I was a contradiction to everything he believed to be true. I am sure you know that feeling as well, sí?"

Henry sighted. He knew that feeling intimately.

"Yes, I did experience it the first time I came back to life when I knew I should be dead and even now I sometimes feel an echo of it every time I am reborn. "

Montoya's gaze shifted to the blackboard again.

"Do you make a habit of dying, doctor? I must say I find the experience very unpleasant and would rather minimize the number of times I am forced to swim naked. "

Henry found his own eyes drawn to the list as well.

"Sometimes it just can't be avoided. And I went through a period of trying every possible manner of death to see if there wouldn't be one that would be permanent. "

He emptied his glass and let the slight burn of the alcohol drive away the dark mood that threatened to settle onto him.

"Those must have been very desperate times, doctor."

Henry just nodded. He really didn't intend to share that much with a nearly complete stranger.

"I think it would be my time for telling a story, wouldn't it? "

It was nearly midnight by the time Montoya took his leave. He had placed his very professional looking card on Henry's table. On the card were only a name, telephone number and email address. Henry slipped it into his pocket while trying not to think too hard about the incongruity of a 19th century colonel having an email address.

Telling his story to the Spaniard had felt surprisingly good. Finally he could actually talk about it with someone who understood exactly what he'd been through.

As he went to bed his thoughts returned to the last time he had told another human being his real history. Jo had not reacted quite like he would have predicted but then she often surprised him.

When she had showed up with that old photograph of him his first reaction had been to think up a lie she might believe. He had found that people would rather believe the most outrageous lie than face the fact there might be more between heaven and earth than they had ever dreamt. But Abe had asked him to trust Jo with his truth so he had taken a leap of faith.

The slap had stung and caused a ringing in his ears. Jo's raised voice hadn't help much with that either.

"That was for all the stupid stunts that you pulled and for making me save your immortal ass with considerable risk to my very mortal one! What the hell were you thinking, Henry?"

She had been pacing up and down the living room all the time he had been talking. He'd thought he could nearly see her brain sorting through every little oddity, every thing that hadn't made sense before, and re-evaluating it with the new information. And with every little puzzle piece that suddenly fit much better than before he had seen her anger rise. Her steps had become longer, her turns more forceful and one look at her face would have made a hardened criminal confess every crime he ever committed.

She had been carrying around the cup of coffee Abe had made for her distractedly without ever taking a sip. Jo had seemingly forgotten it was even there for when he had finished his story and waited for her reaction she had taken a step towards him then looked down at her hands in confusion.

He hadn't realised what she'd intended to do as she carefully put the cup down on the table then raised her hand for the hardest slap he'd ever felt.

"How could you take such stupid risks when there were people around who would try and help? I don't give a damn if you enjoy getting run over by cars or falling off roofs when you do it without endangering anyone else but sooner or later someone will get hurt trying to protect you! "

It has stunned him into silence. First of all because no one had ever before reacted like that to his revelation and second because he had found that he had no defence at all. There was no way to justify his actions, no reason why what Jo accused him of wasn't the complete and absolute truth.

He had become reckless. He had got so used to the certainty of his own immortality that he had started using it like any of his other skills.

He knew being run over by a car wouldn't kill him permanently so why not use it to stop a murderer from fleeing?

It had never really crossed his mind how his actions must have looked to Jo.

Had she thought him suicidal? Addicted to adrenalin?

Surely she had been afraid for him, she had saved him more than once as it were.

And yet having been distracted with the threat of Adam he had failed to fully see the impact his actions had had on his friend.

What if Jo had died saving him? What if when he was climbing around on the bridge some kind-hearted stranger had stopped and tried to pull him back up only to fall to their own death?

For the first time in decades he realised just how different he had become from his original self.

When had he stopped considering the lives around him? When had everyone else turned from fellow human being to a phantom, a shade flitting in and out if his life without consequence? He had made so few new connections in this lifetime.

Ever since he lost Abigail he had been keeping everyone but Abe at arm's length. And it had somehow made them less real. Only now when Jo, Mike, Lucas and the other's had dragged him from his solitude by their persistence to be his friends had be realised that he was making an impact on other people's lives.

It wasn't them who had become the phantoms, he finally realised, it was him.

 _What a cheerful thought right before falling asleep, old chap. Why not just put up a sign reading 'Nightmares welcome'?_

But he wasn't a phantom any longer, was he? They had made him real again. Abe, Jo, Lucas. They saw him and cared about him and that made him real, made him human.

 _There, subconscious, is that a better thought?_

Henry turned off the light and closed his eyes with a smile.


	5. Chapter 5

"Good morning, Henry. I have a dead body for you. "

Henry smiled and reached for his coat.

"You say the nicest things, Detective Martinez. I will just grab my bag and then we can go. Lucas shouldn't miss me too much. "

The crime scene was in one of the more expensive neighbourhoods. The victim, male presumably, going by his clothes, was sitting in his arm chair in a living room that spoke of wealth and good taste. Henry pulled on gloves and leaned closer to examine the body.

"Well, the cause of death is no great mystery. Close range riffle shot to the head, which has as you can see a devastating effect on said head. Did you know that German forensic literature calls this a _Krönleinschuss_? Rudolf Ulrich Krönlein, 19th century Swiss surgeon, was the first to describe how a shot from a hunting riffle to the head at close range could cause such extreme pressure to build up inside the head that it would burst and most of the brain would get blown out? Of course that doesn't often leave a lot of facial features for identification..."

Henry looked up as the sounds of retching and a hasty exit could be heard from the hallway.

"Sometimes your enthusiasm for messy deaths worries me, Henry. Could someone please go see to Perez? I don't want him contaminating even more of the scene! "

"I'm sorry, Jo, but ballistics is a really fascinating subject. "

He smiled a bit sheepishly and returned his attention to the deceased.

"So, let me guess, doc, suicide? "

Hanson let his gaze roam over the blood spatter and bits of brain that decorated wall and ceiling behind the armchair.

"Well, the riffle is leaning in such a way that it could be suicide. I'd say his arms are just long enough to reach the trigger but I think the angle isn't quite right for this scenario. It could still be suicide, of course, but at this point I won't rule out a homicide either. You'll have to wait until after the autopsy. Do we have an idea yet who he might be? "

Hanson checked his notes.

"House belongs to a Victor Mitchell, 43 years old, twice divorced, no kids. He's a moderately successful businessman who has recently had quite a bit of luck in the real estate market. "

Hanson pointed to a picture on a nearby desk. It showed a man holding up an impressively big fish and smiling proudly.

"Apparently he likes fishing. It seems likely that our dead body is him but given the state of his face we'll have to run his prints to be sure. If he's not in the system we might have to even rely on dental records."

Henry nodded. He pulled off the gloves and walked to the door.

"Yes, and while we wait for you to run those finger prints I'll do the autopsy."

"He's smiling Jo, shall we bet that means it was murder?"

Hanson grinned at Jo.

"And lose to you? No way. He's _always_ happy when it's murder. It's nearly disturbing. So what do you have for us, Henry?"

Jo stepped closer to the table and looked the body over.

"First I must object to your idea that murder specifically puts me in a good mood. _Interesting cases_ put me in a good mood. Secondly, I can not prove that it wasn't suicide but there are a few findings that at least rouse suspicion. For one have a look at his upper arms. There are faint bruises in the vague shape of a hand. It seems someone held him in place shortly before his death. Also there is slight bruising to his abdomen like someone beat him up a short time ante mortem. His right hand has bruised knuckles so I'd expect he fought back. All in all suicide is possible but homicide is equally as possible. Do we know who he is by now? "

Jo nodded and opened the file she carried.

"It's Mitchell, like we suspected. He got arrested in college once for vandalism. Got off with a fine and a slap on the wrist. His haircut alone should have been cause to lock him up."

She held up a police photograph of a very drugged looking young man with a wild mullet and a split lip. After that she took out another picture in the file and held it up as well.

It showed a man in a tuxedo, his arm around a petit blond woman in a wedding dress.

"Hard to believe this is the same guy. And even harder to believe he's our dead body. I doubt she'd recognise her ex now but it's definitely him."

Jo replace the pictures in the file and closed it. She turned towards her partner and made a shooing motion with her hand.

"Mike, why don't you go ahead, I've got something I want to ask Henry."

Both man eyed her suspiciously but Hanson nodded and left without objection.

Henry pulled off his gloves and apron, disinfected his hands, and held the door of his office open for Jo.

"I guess whatever you want to talk about is not good news?"

They sat down at his desk and Jo just shrugged.

"It's not exactly bad news either but when we looked into Mitchell we found out he had an altercation with the bodyguard of your new stalker a month ago and him and Montoya seem to be business rivals. Mitchell's good luck lately was bad luck for Montoya. I think he cost him a few thousand dollars. We'll have to treat Montoya as a suspect now. Will this be a problem? Is he going to cause trouble? "

He read the unspoken 'Is he going to be another Adam?' in her worried face and could merely shrug.

"I have honestly not the faintest idea. He seemed sane enough when we talked but that doesn't mean he's not a cold blooded murderer."

Jo nodded as if that was exactly the answer she'd expected.

"We've asked him and his lawyer in for questioning. They should be here in about an hour. At least that's what his lawyer said."

Henry checked his pocket watch.

"I think I might just spend my lunch break behind the one way mirror then, nice spot for it, wouldn't you say?"


	6. Chapter 6

Montoya looked perfectly at ease, Henry thought. Leaning back in the uncomfortable chair, legs crossed at the ankles, hands folded loosely in his lap, he looked like he were the one conducting the interview not the one being questioned as a murder suspect.

He wore a perfectly tailored and no doubt expensive three piece suit of modern cut that made Henry feel uncomfortably underdressed. His lawyer, no doubt no less expensive and surely very skilled had been hushed with just one lifted finger when he started objecting the second Jo started asking questions.

Henry had a sudden and very vivid recollection of how Colonel Montoya had held court in his office in just that posture, playing the well meaning civil servant while pulling all the strings and arranging events so they would benefit him most. His soldiers had been just as well trained in obedience as that lawyer. But they wouldn't have dared to look this affronted at being hushed.

Jo looked slightly taken aback but soon regained her composure.

"You were saying, detective?"

The Spaniard was trying to get control of the interview, Henry realised. He'd interrupt her in any way and as often as possible so she wouldn't be able to take control back. But Jo wasn't a rookie and surely she'd see through that.

"I was asking if you knew a Victor Mitchell."

Jo placed the wedding photograph on the table between them. Montoya barely glanced at it but instead kept his eyes focused on Jo's face. Another tactic to make her uncomfortable.

"Yes, he and I were…I think you could call us business associates. Or probably business rivals is more what you'd want to hear? And yes, we did have our differences in the past and yes he closed a deal I had also been competing for which earned him a lot of money. But that is the way things go in business, one day you lose, the other day you win, no?"

Clearly not being used to suspects volunteering that much information Jo took a moment to collect her thoughts. She hid it well by taking time to put the picture back into the file but if Henry noticed so most likely had Montoya.

"Where were you the day before yesterday between 10 pm and 2 am of the following day, Mr. Montoya?"

Calculating time of death was never an exact science, even though the police always seemed to hope Henry could tell them down to the exact minute. Which, in and of itself, was a completely impossible thing to ask since death was not like flipping a switch but more of a gradual fading out of life.

All Henry could ever really give them, if there had been no one to observe the death, was a rough estimate.

The body had shown complete rigor mortis that was not beginning to loosen yet and adding to that the liver temperature as compared to the ambient temperature in the victim's living room had given Henry a 4 hour window, given the rough estimate of the body temperature staying constant for about two hours and then dropping at a constant rate afterwards.

"I was working, in my office at home, then I went to bed around midnight. And I was alone, isn't that what you'd ask next? On the tv shows that's always what the police officer asks next. I do realize it is not much of an alibi but I could offer my computer as proof? I think someone with sufficient technological knowledge can tell you at what time certain files on it have been edited?"

Henry wanted to bang on the glass but he feared if he did that one more time Jo might just shoot him. But didn't she realise that he had completely taken the interview out of her hands? By answering questions before she could ask them Montoya was in perfect control of how much and what he told them. He might even manage to make her forget to ask certain things.

"All looking at your files would tell us is that _someone_ was working at your computer at that time, not that it was necessarily you. Do you have a security system at your home? Anything that can prove at what time you came home that night?"

 _Yes, that's better Jo_ , Henry thought. _Don't let him get away with it_.

"Alas, no. I do understand that door alarms and cameras are very , how do you say, _in_ with people of a certain social standing here but in Spain we never felt the need for them and I have no intention of taking up this whole paranoid habit of alarms and panic rooms. I lock my door at night and trust in your law enforcement to do their job. I have hired security for my offices to protect my investments but that is all."

Jo turned some pages in the file again.

"Would that hired security be one Randal Burns?"

Montoya nodded.

"Yes, that is the gentleman's name, I believe."

Jo scoffed.

"Gentleman? He's done time for aggravated assault, not exactly what I'd call gentle."

Montoya smiled indulgently.

"I use the term loosely, Detective Perez. And isn't finding legal employment one step to rehabilitating offenders once they have been released from prison?"

It was clearly a rhetorical question and Jo didn't even acknowledge it. She put a print out of some document on the table.

"This is a report Victor Mitchell filed a month ago against your man Burns. Seems Burns gave him a black eye, broken ribs and a sprained wrist."

Montoya didn't even pretend to look at the document this time.

"Charges which were investigated and ruled as self defence, if I remember correctly. I have hired Mr. Burns to protect my property and in that capacity he interrupted a burglary. When the masked intruder pulled something from his coat Mr. Burns understandably feared for his life because he thought it was a gun and reacted accordingly. I decided not to press charges against Mr. Mitchell for breaking into my offices and hoped he'd learned his lesson."

That was true, Henry had seen the investigation report, but he was also sure that the broken ribs went a bit beyond self defence.

"Do you have any idea where Mr. Burns was the day before yesterday between 10 pm and 2 am?"

Montoya smiled.

"Unless he was being negligent at his job he was guarding my offices. He works from 10 pm, when the last of my other employees leaves, until 6 am when the first ones arrive. And no, we do not have security cameras at the office either. He has proven very reliable so far and I pay him very well to keep it that way."

Henry read in the tension of Jo's shoulders and the way she was tapping her foot that she was starting to lose patience with this interview.

Most likely as a way to rattle Montoya she suddenly pulled pictures of the crime scene and the autopsy out of the file and nearly flung them down in front of Montoya.

"So you of course have no idea who would want to blow Mitchell's head off with his own rifle, do you?"

Montoya lifted an eyebrow at the sudden change in tone but did not otherwise react to an array of pictures that would give most people nightmares.

" _Madre de dios,_ no. Do you really think I would do something like this just because a man is a business rival? My rivals are what makes my work more interesting. They are the spice in this otherwise rather bland branch of investment. And I am slightly offended you think me capable of such violence, detective."

The lawyer, looking slightly pale, pushed together the pictures into one stack and turned them face down.

"Did you find any evidence at the scene that would link my client or his employee to this terrible crime?"

This time Montoya did not stop the man from speaking but merely seemed to relax even further into his chair. It seemed he had said all he wanted to say and was not expecting any more questions.

Jo put the pictures back into the file.

"Not all forensic reports have come back yet but so far there has been no evidence to link Mr. Montoya to the crime scene, no."

She nearly sounded a bit bitter about this.

"In that case I do not think you have any evidence to charge my client or to even hold him here for further questioning. We are, of course, available for any further questions that might arise but currently we are late for another meeting. Good day, detective."

They got up and Montoya bowed slightly to Jo.

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, detective. I hope you find whoever did this. It seems like a truly terrible way to go and I shall be sure to send flowers to Mr. Mitchell's funeral and pray for his soul."

Jo glared daggers at his retreating back then stalked into the observation room.

"That...that…I don't even know what to call him! I have never met such an arrogant, self-important, slimy…bastard! Who does he think he is?"

Henry held up his hands.

"Hey, Jo, calm down. He really got under your skin, didn't he? He does seem to have that effect on a lot of people…"

Jo clenched her fists, took a deep breath and let it out again slowly.

"I'm sorry, Henry. Yes, he did get under my skin and I really shouldn't have let that happen. But I tell you one thing: If he's not guilty of _this_ murder he sure is guilty of something. Just looking at him gives me the creeps."

Henry sighed.

"Are you sure that's not just your unease about him being immortal speaking? He's not a nice man, no, but he seems to at least be sane and as far as we can tell currently law-abiding."

Running a hand through her hair Jo shook her head.

"No, there is something just off about him. And are you sure that you don't just want him to be innocent because you don't want every other immortal you meet to be a killer?"

That thought struck a bit too close to home for Henry. Because what would it say about his future if every other immortal really were insane and/or a cold blooded murderer?


	7. Chapter 7

"Nothing, nada, not even one partial print or a single hair that doesn't belong to the victim!"

Jo slammed the forensic reports onto Henry's desk and sat down heavily across from him. She nearly looked a little defeated, he thought.

"No sign of forced entry, no sign anyone went through his things, nothing obviously missing, not even a stupid piece of gravel or a bit of earth from someone's shoes! If it weren't for your autopsy report there would be no sign of foul play at all and we'd rule it a suicide, case closed."

She pushed a hand through her hair. Going by how mused she looked it wasn't the first time she had done this today.

"Be honest, Henry, how sure are you that it wasn't suicide? "

After looking over the reports very briefly Henry closed the file again. They really just were a study in _How can I say 'We found nothing' in as many words as possible?_.

"As sure as I ever can be without having been there to witness the deed. The bruises were consistent with someone holding him tightly around the time of death. But of course I can't proof that that didn't happen, say, ten minutes before TOD and he killed himself afterwards. But it does seem so much less likely. Also it says here that they found no suicide note. While it is true that not all who commit suicide leave a note most do. There are also no signs of previous attempts on his body or in his medical records. But being male he's statistically more likely to succeed on his first attempt. "

Henry shrugged. If Jo wanted to hear that he was 100% certain it was murder he'd have to disappoint her.

Jo slouched down even further in her chair, deflating like a balloon animal someone had poked with a needle. Her face looked troubled and her brows were drawn together in a frown.

"That's what I feared you'd say. I've come to a similar conclusion. Even that a shotgun he owned and regularly used was used to kill him would fit with in with a suicide. Men are much more likely to hang or shoot themselves, especially with weapons they already own, while women more often use poison or cut their wrists. Is it possible we're wrong about this and it is simply a suicide? "

Henry mentally went through all the facts of the case again. _Was_ it possible? No doubt. But had he misinterpreted the autopsy findings? He did not think that he had. The bruises had been obvious and there was nothing else that would have caused a similar discolouration.

"It's of course possible but it's a small possibility. Of course unless someone confesses we also have nothing to use as evidence against any suspect."

Jo frowned. Clearly she had thought about that already as well. No evidence would give any cop indigestion.

"Now won't Montoya and his lawyer just love to hear that?"

She sat up and put her folded hands onto the edge of the table. It reminded Henry of praying people at the church.

"Can't you please work your deductive magic Henry and pull some tiny overlooked fact out of your...out of thin air that we haven't thought about before? Something? Anything? You've got the strangest collection of macabre trivia in your head that I've ever seen, surely something is rattling around in that head of yours? My gut says that no matter the lack of evidence so far this is a murder and I really, really want to catch whoever did it. "

Henry leaned back and mirroring Jo's pose also put his hands on the table.

"I have tried Jo but so far nothing had jumped out at me. We might be looking at the perfect murder, if it is a murder. I really can't find any new evidence for you. Well, no hard evidence, that is..."

Jo tiled her head and looked at him sternly. Her temper may have been a bit too frayed to tolerate pathologists who give evasive answers.

"Henry, I'm clutching at straws. If you told me the ghost of the dead man came to you in a dream wearing a tutu and pointed out his murderer I'd investigate it. Even a really terrible lead is better than no lead. So spit it out, whatever it is."

He sighted, clearly not completely comfortable with his observation, but finally complied.

"Fine, but I am warning you, it is nothing you could convince a jury with."

He hesitated again but when he saw Jo beginning to drum her fingers against the table top he hastened to continue lest her overwrought temper snap.

"I think you should look closer at Montoya's lawyer. Did you see how the pictures of the body made him react? He stared to fidget, sweat, and tried not to look at them yet seemed unable to keep his eyes away. And as soon as he could do it without arousing suspicion he turned them face down. Now it might just be that he has a weak stomach and they made him nauseous but I think he acted more like he felt guilty."

Henry shrugged then hastily added: "But it really isn't any proof and you shouldn't accuse someone of murder just on the strength of this observation."

Jo made an absent minded humming noise and her eyes stared through the table. Clearly she was trying to remember the interview.

"You know, I hardly ever looked at the lawyer. He didn't say much and he wasn't a suspect. I might also have been a bit to angry at Montoya but I think I do recall the lawyer looking a bit pale just before they left. And he did turn those pictures around pretty fast. I think we can at least justify a surface background check, see who his other clients are, maybe find a link between him and the victim. I'm not going to outright accuse him of murder, yet, but it's something worth checking out."

She grabbed her file and got up, her face much happier than when she had come in.

"Thank you, Henry, I knew I could count on you."


	8. Chapter 8

"Does this hurt?"

Helm sounded much too gleeful for someone who was poking away in an open wound.

"Yes, doctor, of course it hurts. Kindly finish poking at it already."

Luis clenched his teeth against the renewed pain as Helm once again fished around in the wound with his forceps.

"Are you sure you're a doctor and not a butcher?"

"Stop complaining or I'll just leave the musket ball in there. See how comfortably you'll sit then."

Montoya growled but told Helm to proceed.

"Are you enjoying the view that much that you need to take an unnecessary…ouch!"

After a little more probing the doctor with a triumphant _Got you!_ dropped the bloody projectile into a basin. He seemingly hadn't heard Luis' question or, more likely, was ignoring it on purpose.

Montoya breathed a sigh of relief.

"That took you long enough."

Dr. Helm just scoffed.

"If your soldiers had better aim they wouldn't shoot their commander instead of the Queen of Swords and we wouldn't be here. I bet she's laughing her head off about that wherever she currently is. "

Montoya cursed her quietly and rather inventively under his breath.

"You know, colonel, after your little bout of not-dying a month ago I would have half expected your wounds to heal faster but it seems I was wrong. You seem to heal just like the rest of us."

Helm quickly finished cleaning and dressing the wound then told Montoya to pull his trousers back up.

"All your vitals are normal for a man your age and every test - well, at least the ones you consented to - was completely within normal parameters."

Luis pulled his trousers up and tugged his shirt in. Then he shrugged back into his jacket with a little wince at the movement.

"I will not allow you to cut off pieces of my skin for your scientific curiosity, doctor, and don't even think about killing me. This might just have been a one-off miracle and I have no intention of dying permanently just yet. "

Helm looked offended.

"I am shocked you would think that I could just kill you in cold blood merely to satisfy my curiosity."

Helm washed the blood from his hands and angrily grabbed a nearby towel.

"I am a doctor, not a murderer. I wish to save lives, you should know that by now. But do you really think it was just a one-off?"

Luis just shrugged.

"You said it yourself, Dr. Helm. My body is no different than before my little brush with death. If there were some permanent change in my physiology shouldn't you able to detect it with all those strange tests you have been subjecting me to? "

Drying his hands and rolling down the sleeves of his wrinkled shirt Robert gave the matter some thought.

"We really know so little about how the human body works, colonel. I am not sure we can detect all changes that might have happened to you. I think we will only know for sure if you die again and return to life again or not. "

Montoya glared at him.

"You do not have to sound like you hope for that to happen right away, doctor."

"No, of course not, that's not what i meant. It's just that this is such an interesting case, so completely impossible. You should be dead and yet here you are, in prefect health...mostly. Apart from the bullet wound I mean, nothing else is wrong with you currently, physically."

Was Luis imagining it or was the good doctor avoiding looking at him and thinking too much about his …physical well being?

"You are babbling, doctor, it is very unbecoming. "

Montoya pulled on his gloves then walked to the door. He stopped with his hand on the door knob and turned back to Helm with a stern face.

"I am sure I do not have to remind you that you can't tell anyone about my...experience and that you are to keep any notes you take well locked away and especially out of the hands of a certain vigilante? "

Helm sighted.

"Stop being so paranoid, Montoya. We have a deal, do we not? I get to examine you to find the cause for your _experience_ and in exchange I'll keep it to myself. "

Luis nodded, clearly satisfied with the answer.

"Good, I knew I could count on your discretion, Dr. Helm. I shall see myself out."

He pulled open the door and stepped through. Before he pulled it closed behind him he leaned back into the room and said with a grin: "Though if all you wanted was access to my body you could have just asked, Robert."

The wet towel Helm threw after him only hit the closed door.

"Do you have any idea where the notes he took on your case ended up?"

Henry stirred his tea and tried not to get his hopes up.

"I fear I do not know. Dr. Helm stayed in Santa Helena after I had to disappear and I never saw him again. But surely you can't expect him to have found anything 200 years ago that you can't find with all the wonders of medical technology that exist today? "

Henry lifted his shoulders in a slow shrug.

"Maybe not found anything but it could be that he had an idea or a direction to his experiments that I hadn't thought of before. Maybe he couldn't follow those ideas back then but we could follow them now? "

Montoya nodded, understanding what Henry was trying to say.

"Why is it so important to know the why and how of it, Dr. Morgan? Isn't it enough to know you're immortal? I must admit to not having given it much thought after I left Santa Helena behind."

Henry couldn't meet Montoya's eyes.

"Scientific curiosity, I'd say. I am a doctor after all. "

Henry doubted telling him that he was looking for a way to die would go over well. It would in the best case be considered a possible future abandonment and in the worst case a threat to Montoya's own life.

And since he really didn't know much about the man he really didn't want to find out this way how he'd react to a perceived threat.

Even if there wasn't enough evidence to make him a suspect the Spaniard was still a person of interest in their current case and given what Henry remember from the first time he met him he definitely didn't seem to mind killing if it would help him achieve a goal.

Henry still wasn't sure that drinking tea with the man in his lab beneath the shop was a good idea. But Montoya had once again come in shortly before closing time and wouldn't take no for an answer. Adding to that Abe's loudly voiced opinions on how Henry didn't have enough visitors and of course he'd have time for Montoya, so nice of him to drop by again, they had twisted Henry's arm. There really was no way to send his unannounced guest away then without seeming rude to them both.

So Henry had made tea and they had shared stories of their pasts again. And if he was honest with himself Henry had to admit that it felt good to be talking to someone who had similar experiences.

Apart from a most likely furious man currently lying in a hospital bed there was no one he knew of who had the same problems as him with having to somehow climb out of a river stark naked, finding a phone and getting some clothes before he got arrested.

There was no one else who could from experience talk about the near endless journeys needed to get from America to Europe and back, the terrible weeks trapped on board a ship, the frightening storms that could so easily drown a ship and kill everyone on it.

And no one who had over and over again experienced that same kind of loss. Loss of loved ones, of friends and family, of their very way of life.

To change the topic Henry asked: "This Dr. Helm, was he a friend of yours? You must have trusted him a lot to let him perform tests on you."

Montoya took a sip from his cup before replying.

"He was the only one who knew of my secret back then. And I knew from experience that he was a man of great integrity and kindness. He would not expose a secret someone had entrusted him with, not even under threat of torture or death. And yes, I did trust him to perform his tests on me. I was sad to have to leave him behind but he did not want to leave Santa Helena without a doctor."

Henry had watched the other's face closely and thought he had detected a hint of sadness in those eyes.

"It sounds like you became friends over time. I am sorry you lost him, people like us never have many friends. Keeping secrets makes real friendship a hard thing to cultivate."

Montoya just nodded, still lost in thought, or in memories.


	9. Chapter 9

Henry and Jo watched Montoya's lawyer, Erik Kramer, through the one way glass of the interrogation room. He was clearly nervous, he could hardly sit still. He was constantly adjusting his tie or his cuffs as well as crossing and uncrossing his legs. His eyes were darting between the door and the mirror.

"I don't know about you, Henry, but that looks like a man who has something to hide to me."

Henry nodded.

"And he clearly isn't very good at hiding it, either. Do we know when his lawyer will get here?"

Jo checked her watch.

"Shouldn't be too long now, he called him about an hour ago."

As if on cue the door opened and Hanson ushered in a grey haired man wearing an Armani suit and carrying a briefcase that cost more than Jo made in a month. He was, apparently, the family lawyer of Kramer's parents and he had "inherited" him after their deaths.

The lawyer shook Kramer's hand then sat down next to the younger man. They talked quietly with their heads together for a few minutes. Kramer was moving his hands in frantic, nervous gestures while his lawyer tried to calm him down, reassure him.

Finally they seemed to reach an accord because the lawyer called them in. "We are ready, detectives."

Jo grabbed the case file and left the observation room to shortly after enter the room on the other side of the mirror.

Henry crossed his arms and waited.

They had indeed done a background check on Kramer and to their surprise found out that Mitchell, the victim, and Kramer were graduates of the same expensive private school. They had been class mates and maybe friends but until Kramer became the lawyer of one of Mitchell's business rivals they seemed to have had no contact.

Jo and Henry had subsequently paid a visit to the school. The campus itself with its dorms and lecture halls was of the kind of understated elegance that screamed old money. On the way to the principal's office they passed a wall filled with pictures of the most successful graduates. It was an impressive collection, Henry thought he even recognized a vice president or two among them.

The current principal herself had only had the job for about 3 years so she couldn't personally tell them anything about Kramer's time at her school and had told them in no uncertain terms that school records were confidential and that they'd need a warrant to see them. She had reluctantly allowed them access to the collection of yearbooks in their library, though.

They had split the stack of yearbooks between them and were leafing though them slowly when Jo had suddenly sat up straighter with an excited gleam in her eyes.

"Hey, Henry, look at this."

She turned the book around so he didn't have to read it upside down. It was of Kramer's graduation year and currently open on a double page titled _In Memoriam_.

"Patrick Marques, always in our hearts and our prayers", Henry had read aloud. The page was filled with pictures of a handsome young man. He seemed happy, often smiling brightly into the camera. In one picture he held aloft some kind of sports trophy surrounded by his laughing teammates. Another picture showed him bent over a book in the library. But the picture that had most likely caused Jo's excitement was one where a much younger but still very recognisable Erik Kramer had his arms around the boy's shoulders. Maybe Henry was imagining it but he thought that the two boys were looking like more than friends posing for a picture. They were standing very close together and Patrick was leaning into Kramer a bit too much.

"The dead kid was one year below Kramer and Mitchell, he died around the beginning of their final school year. Of course it doesn't say anything about how he died but with a boy that age it's usually not from natural causes."

Henry had nodded.

"Yes, it could have been an accident, of course. But it might as well have been suicide or murder. I take it there should have been a police report about it in either case, don't you think? And most likely an autopsy report."

Jo had taken pictures of the yearbook pages with her phone before slamming the book shut with a carelessness that had made Henry wince a bit.

On the way back to the car there had definitely been a spring in Jo's step.

"It is rather indecent how happy an obituary can make you, detective", Henry had admonished her jokingly.

"Oh hush, Mr. Gets-Excited-by-Gruesome-Deaths. It's the first tangible lead we've had in this whole case so I am allowed to be a bit excited about it."

As it turned out there had indeed been both a police report and an autopsy report for the boy and those were both inside the case file Jo slapped down on the interrogation room table as she sat down.

"Mr. Kramer, how well did you know Mr. Mitchell?"

Kramer looked to his lawyer for permission before answering the question.

"I only really knew him from the few business meetings I attended with Mr. Montoya. I guess you know that we went to the same school but we really didn't spent time together back then, at least not outside of class. We weren't in the same circle of friends and I didn't see him again after graduation."

The lawyer interrupted then when he realised that Kramer was starting to sound defensive.

"Detective, if the fact that my client attended school with the deceased is the only thing you have to connect him to this case I suggest we end this interview right now. Approximately 20 others also were in the same school year as my client, are you going to investigate them as well?"

Jo opened the file and placed a print out of an email in front of Kramer.

"Do you recognise this email, Mr. Kramer? It is dated a week before Mr. Mitchell's death. We found it in the deleted mails folder on your computer, which you gave us access to."

Kramer pulled the piece of paper closer with a trembling hand. His lawyer once again answered for him.

"The computer at his office you mean, detective? A computer his secretary and colleagues also have access to in case my client isn't in his office?"

Jo didn't take her eyes of Kramer.

"Yes, that computer. Mr. Kramer's account is password protected, is it not? So unless he is being careless with his clients' information and does not lock out of said account when he leaves the office I'd say the chances of anyone else using his email account are rather slim. Can you read the email aloud for us please, Mr. Kramer?"

Kramer cleared his throat and with only a slight tremor in his voice complied: "Dear Erik, it is sad that I never see you at our class reunions. I am sure we would have a lot to talk about. I also have a little problem I could use your help with, your professional help that is. Call me some time so we can discuss it. Oh, and Patrick says 'Hi'. Your old class mate, Victor."

The older lawyer was nearly bristling with indignation.

"You are wasting my client's and my time, detective. So the deceased asked my client for his professional help, maybe he wanted to hire him? That email proves absolutely nothing."

Henry thought the shade of ashen Kramer had turned made that out to be a lie.

Jo nodded.

"By itself this email looks very harmless and ordinary, which is why at first we didn't pay it any mind. But then we found this in your yearbook."

Jo pulled out the pictures she'd taken of the obituary. She pointed at the one that showed Kramer and Patrick.

"Patrick Marques, do you remember him? You two look like you were pretty close. He was, incidentally, also the only Patrick in the whole yearbook."

Kramer swallowed and looked to his lawyer for advice.

"Get to the point detective, before I decide that this interview is over."

Jo pushed the print outs of the police report and the autopsy report towards Kramer and his lawyer.

"Patrick was found dead in his dorm room on a Monday morning when he failed to show up for class. Cause of death was an overdose of opiates, according to the pathology report. It was ruled a suicide, case closed. Do you know what else the pathologist found? Signs of sexual abuse. Turns out Patrick was raped around the time of his death. The police never found out who raped him or where he got the drugs from. The other students, including Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Kramer, all claimed that they hadn't spoken to Patrick all weekend. Looking at those pictures I find it hard to believe that someone as seemingly social as Patrick wouldn't speak to anyone for a whole weekend."

The lawyer's face had turned harder with every word Jo spoke. He looked about ready to hit someone, most likely his client, by the time she finished.

Jo pointed to the picture of Kramer and Patrick again.

"Do you want to know what I think? I think Mitchell, Patrick, your client and maybe one or two others were having a little private party that got out of control and the boy ended up dead. The school made sure none of the students would talk and cause even more bad publicity. I think for some reason Mitchell has kept quiet about it until now when he thought he could use that knowledge to his own advantage. So he blackmailed Mr. Kramer. What did he ask for in exchange for his continued silence? Inside information into your clients' businesses? Money? Whatever it was I think you didn't believe paying him would be sufficient to keep your secret securely under the carpet so you hired someone to kill him."

The lawyer's control finally snapped and he pushed the papers back towards Jo.

"This is nothing but a theory, detective. You have no proof for any of it. My client clearly never was a suspect in this terrible tragedy that happened at his school and even if he was friends with the boy he had nothing to do with either of these deaths."

Jo closed the case file again and got up.

"It is enough to get us a warrant to search Mr. Kramer's home and offices and to look at his finances and phone calls. If he paid someone to kill Victor Mitchell we will find the proof there. I suggest you do not leave the city, Mr. Kramer."


	10. Chapter 10

"And he actually transferred the money for the hit from his own bank account. We traced the money to a group of small time gangsters. Turns out they were all too ready to make a deal and sell him out. He even instructed them on how to not leave behind any prints or DNA."

Henry sipped his tea and watched his guest. They seemed to have slipped into a routine where Montoya dropped by the shop about once a week, made small talk with Abe and then went down to the lab to have tea with Henry.

They played chess and drank brandy and talked about whatever came to mind. With this case now finally wrapped up Henry also could stop feeling guilty about talking to his fellow immortal.

Montoya was no longer a suspect in their case. Of course Jo still believe that he was guilty of _something_ and was hoping that she'd find evidence yet to at least tie him tangentially to this murder but so far it look like he really hadn't known what his lawyer was doing.

But Henry was very aware that it didn't automatically mean that the Spaniard was as innocent as he pretended to be. It might just mean that he was very, very good at covering his tracks. And Mitchell's murder did benefit him, no matter what Montoya said, so Henry doubted he would have stopped his lawyer had he known what he was up to. He would merely have made sure that none of it could be traced back to him.

"I must say, I am disappointed in the young man. I had expected better of him. I shall have to make sure my next lawyer will know how to properly bury a body."

Montoya smiled at his host over his own tea cup and Henry had a hard time telling whether the other was being serious or not. But given what he knew of the man he feared that he actually might be.

"Do remember that I work for the coroner's office, I really can't let you plan to bury any bodies."

That earned him an affronted look.

" , I am appalled. I haven't personally buried any bodies for many decades, the last time was in 1920 during the Spanish influenza pandemic. After all, that's what employees are for. And also should I ever have need to bury a body I can assure you that no one would ever know about it."

Henry sighed.

"You do realise that's actually the opposite of reassuring, don't you?"

He only got an enigmatic smile in return. But Henry thought he could live with it. He could drink tea with this man and talk about the past and their condition and not have to worry that the next body on his table might have been put there by Montoya.

It was most likely about as much as he could ask for when dealing with another immortal. And it was more than he could ever expect from Adam.

Adam…now that was another time bomb just waiting to go off. He would not stay in the hospital forever. Henry knew that people in his condition usually succumbed to hospital acquired infections after a time. He just hoped that when it happened he'd have thought of another way to deal with the older immortal. Maybe he should ask Montoya? Or maybe not, the thought of Montoya and Adam teaming up was enough to give any man nightmares.

It was a problem for another day, he decided. He had meant to ask Montoya about his reasons for leaving Santa Helena and California behind in such a hurry. He might even trade one of his own embarrassing stories for it.

Robert Helm watched with a worried frown as Montoya hastily packed clothes and money into a bag.

"Are you absolutely sure this is necessary? Why don't you just bribe him?"

Montoya tied the bag up with angry motions.

"And how long do you think that will keep him quiet? He's not quite stupid enough to not see that this is a dangerous secret and he can get much more than money out of knowing it."

Helm conceded the point with a sigh.

"Sad but true. You couldn't have gone and died in front of a more stupid witness?"

That earned him a glare that would have made a weaker man lose control of his bowels.

"I am sorry if my being murdered by my back-stabbing-coward of a capitán inconveniences you, Dr. Helm, and I assure you I would have gladly avoided it if it were possible."

Montoya went to his hidden room behind the book case and pocketed more gold and valuables. Robert watched in silence, worry and amusement at the situation fighting for supremacy.

"The only reason I even have time to pack before leaving is because even an imbecile like Grisham realises that he can't go about telling people he just killed his military commander and then had the corpse vanish on him. But as soon as he finds out I am not permanently dead he will make a nuisance of himself."

Amusement was slowly winning out over worry and irritation as Montoya even filled the pockets of his jacket with coins.

"Are you sure you can carry all that gold, Montoya? Maybe you should leave it for the Queen of Swords, as your parting gift."

Luis didn't even dignify that with an answer. He merely pulled on the darkest of his coats and grabbed his bags. He threw one of the heavy bags to Helm who then had to hurry to keep up as the colonel stalked angrily towards the stables. Luis put down his bag next to the stable and started saddling his horse.

"Give me a hand with this, doctor, and stop talking nonsense."

Robert put down his bag then lifted the saddle onto the horse. The animal looked about as amused at being woken up in the middle of the night as Robert had been when Montoya had knocked on his window earlier. Only the sight of Santa Helena's military commander trying to preserve his dignity with a straw hat he seemed to have found somewhere had made losing sleep less annoying.

He had been surprised when Montoya told him that Grisham seemed to have finally snapped and had stabbed Luis in his bed. If the dead man had not vanished Grisham would most likely have blamed the Queen of Swords for the murder.

"Look on the bright side, at least now we know that it wasn't a one of miracle. It seems you have contracted a slight case of being incapable of dying, colonel."

Helm's cheerful tone didn't quite cover his unease about that little fact. Who knew what kind of long term effect this condition would have?

When the horse was ready and the bags tied up securely Montoya swung himself up in the saddle and looked down at Helm with something that came rather close to regret.

"I am not sure whether that is a blessing or a curse, doctor, but I expect I shall find out in time."

He hesitated a moment then reached a hand down to shake Helm's.

"This is goodbye then, it would seem. Good luck, Montoya, try not to get yourself killed too often."

Helm tried to make light of the situation but he had to admit to himself that he would miss the egotistical bastard, but just a little bit. A very little bit.

"Goodbye, Robert. Santa Helena is lucky to have you as her doctor. Watch your back around Grisham."

The Colonel took one last look around before he left the sleeping pueblo behind. Maybe he would go to Mexico, he heard it's nice there this time of year…

 **Epilogue:**

He really needed to stop getting into this kind of situations, Robert thought as he leaned as far away from the gun pressed into his ribs as he could. Did he wear a sign on his back that said _"Take me hostage"_? What other reason could there be that it was frequently him who ended up being the damsel, or more accurately doctor, in distress? And as usual it was the Queen's fault. She really was very bad for his health.

He hadn't really paid attention to what the male bandit behind him and the female one in front of him were talking about but he was sure it came mostly down to posturing and bluffing.

The sharp drop from the cliff down to the sea only a step behind them made sure the bandit couldn't turn and run yet his gun aimed at Helm made sure the Queen of Swords couldn't do anything either.

As the bandit pulled Robert closer with the arm he had around his neck Helm thought he felt the hilt of a knife press into his back. Maybe, if he could just reach it, he might be able to add his own threats to their little stand off…?

Robert could never exactly reconstruct the whole chain of events because it happened much too fast. To the best of his recollection what happened was that as he grabbed the knife and pulled it out of the sheath it startled the bandit who in turn involuntary took a step back. That, in and off itself wouldn't have been so bad but there was nothing behind him to step onto which startled him even more. The gun went off and the last thing Robert felt was the pain of the bullet slamming into his lungs and the air rushing past him as he fell towards the sea and the rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

When he next was aware of his surroundings he was surprised to find himself alive, naked and being dragged towards shore by a certain female vigilante. His thoughts were so preoccupied with the implications of this situation that he nearly forgot to be embarrassed about his nakedness as she helped him out of the water and towards her horse.

Stammering out a story about the bullet missing him, his body missing the rocks, and his clothes getting pulled off in the current he covered himself as best he could with the saddle blanket. He could see from the look on her face that she didn't believe a word of it.

Thankfully she decided questions could wait till they were back in Santa Helena and he was dressed more appropriately. It gave him a little bit of time to decide how much and what to tell her and to get to grips with finding out he might also have contracted a slight case of what ailed the colonel.

Speaking of Montoya, Helm wondered where he might have gone and if there was any chance of being able to contact him?

* * *

AN: And that's it. I actually finished a WIP for once, I am shocked ;).

A big thank you to everyone who read this silly little thing. If you want to leave a review I would be very grateful indeed. Reviews feed the muses ;)


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